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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25830619">Neverland</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye'>deltachye</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Persona 5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, F/M, One Shot, Reader-Insert, nothing explicit happens but forewarning made regardless</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:09:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,352</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25830619</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>[reader x yusuke kitagawa]</p><p>let's go to neverland, and never come back until forever ends.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kitagawa Yusuke/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Neverland</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>is this nothing but personal lamentation that yusuke is too young for me? MAYBE...... i don't want to know what my palace would look like lol. a 2 year age gap doesn't mean much in the grand scheme of things, but highschoolers are....... yeah. anyways. i wanted to explore his character. eccentric artist tropes are fascinating.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b> <em>“all children, except one, grow up."</em> </b>
  </p>
</div><p>The driving force in Yusuke’s life was and always would be the “Sayuri”. It was brought to him through the channels of fate and had an importance to him greater than anything he’d ever know or hope to understand. But, if he had to choose another art piece that moved him, it would be the mural he walked past every day to get to class.</p><p>He didn’t even care about it at first; strikingly different from how he felt after first laying eyes on Sayuri. It was a regular painting of the Tokyo skyline. It was skillfully done, of course, as expected of a fine-arts focused school. But otherwise, it looked like it could’ve been picked out of Google images. It didn’t take him until after his re-birth as a Phantom Thief to take a more critical eye.</p><p>Fluttery brush strokes here, strong, brash ones there. Bold colours melting into peaceful pastels. It’d looked like a mess at first, but with a newly trained eye he saw orchestrated rhythm and composure. Genius hiding in broad daylight, the way it’s meant to. He’d always resent himself for not admiring it earlier.</p><p>Though it seems Fate is not yet done toying with him.</p><p>Alumni from the school return often for guest speaking or lectures. It wasn’t all too odd to see a stranger at the front of the class, chatting merrily with the teacher. He paused in his stride, looking her over. She didn’t appear much older than the student body. Her hair was pulled back neatly, and she wore a plain sweater and jeans. If she’d been in a uniform, he might think of her as a fellow classmate. A recent graduate? There was absolutely nothing abnormal about her. But he felt a tug in his gut regardless, like he was missing something painfully obvious.</p><p>“Kitagawa, are you going to move or what?”</p><p>“Oh. My apologies.”</p><p>He stepped aside, allowing the disgruntled people behind him to pass inside. The girl—woman?—turned to the doorway at the sound of commotion, her eyes meeting his briefly. She gave him a polite smile that he was too paralyzed to return before she looked away. It was like seeing a ripple in a pond with nothing to show. There was something there; something he had to find. He didn’t think he could rest until he did.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em> <b>“even though you want to try to, never grow up.”</b> </em>
  </p>
</div><p>“This is [Surname]-san, everybody. She graduated a couple of years ago.”</p><p>“Hey everyone.” She bowed her head slightly. She was polite, but not stiff. He made sure not to stare at her too intensely from behind his easel. Ryuji and the others had mentioned he had the bad habit of it.</p><p>“She agreed to take time out of her busy schedule to take over the class today. That mural out front was painted by her before she left, y’know. I’ve never taught a better student, so you should all consider yourselves lucky!”</p><p>“There’s no need for such high praise, Sensei. It’s just something I enjoy.”</p><p>So she was the modest type. The more he learnt about her, the less he understood why he was so drawn to her. It wasn’t like she was attractive—well, perhaps he shouldn’t say it that way. (The ladies of the Phantom Thieves would chew him out for it.) It wasn’t like she had an <em>extraordinary</em> level of beauty. From what he could see she wore minimal make-up and had an average frame of body. She looked just fine, like any other college student passing by his people-watching spot. These feelings weren’t rational, then; but since when has art ever been governed by logic?</p><p>“The period’s about 80 minutes long. That should be enough time to complete a self-portrait. I’d like to see how you approach it with no instruction whatsoever, so just do as you please. Just have it finished by the bell.”</p><p>People whispered amongst themselves. He caught a few lines float past: <em>“Uh, is she really qualified?” “Today’s going to be hella easy, then.” “What are you going to do?”</em></p><p>A self-portrait. He thought back to Sayuri. He couldn’t hope to emulate the raw love of a mother for himself, but it was a starting point. [Surname] flipped over the hourglass at the front of the room.</p><p>“Shall we begin?”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em> <b>“you need not be sorry for her. she was one of the kind that likes to grow up. in the end she grew up of her own free will a day quicker than the other girls.”</b> </em>
  </p>
</div><p>“Oh; you’re quite talented.”</p><p>Yusuke blinked, not having heard her walk up behind him. She smiled apologetically.</p><p>“Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”</p><p>“That’s all right.” She had such a ghostly presence that if he were to look away, he felt like she might vanish. She gestured at his canvas.</p><p>“Have you been painting since you were young?”</p><p>He nodded. Many people complimented him on his talent, so it was nothing new; he was here on a prestigious scholarship, after all. And as twisted as Madarame had been, he <em>was</em> the one to allow him to bloom his technical skill in painting. He’d never lacked the resources needed to learn how to paint. How to paint something <em>meaningful</em>, however, was another question entirely.</p><p>“You’ve got an interesting composition coming along,” she mused, bringing her fingers to her chin studiously as she scrutinized his sketch. It was odd; he never cared what people thought of him or his work before, besides the opinions of those close to him. But he was somehow interested to know hers and waited with baited breath.</p><p>“…it’s quite sad.”</p><p>He felt his eyes widen. She delivered the line so calmly that for a moment he didn’t even process it; but <em>how</em>? He hadn’t even intended to convey that, but she was so assured in her answer… had his heart wavered without his knowing?</p><p>“It’s cold, isn’t it? Like ice.” She pointed down at the palette in his hands. The deep blues and blacks twinkled back at him like a night’s open sky. He could practically feel Goemon smirking with satisfaction.</p><p>“I… suppose.”</p><p>“I’m excited to see what you finish with, er… Yusuke-kun.” Everybody had their name written in Sharpie on their easels, though he had to admit his name in her gentle voice made something stir within. She reached out, like she might grasp his shoulder, before seeming to think twice. Her hand ducked up to play with her hair as she nodded before walking away. Despite being aware of the time limit, he couldn’t help but absently watch her go. Perhaps she was a persona user herself to grasp onto such nuances? Or maybe, he was just—</p><p>Time ran out too quick. It always did. He hated coming from the Metaverse to the real world; it was like he had to re-adjust to the flow of time. Besides, it doesn’t make sense. Why rush true art? So much could be done in that other world, and so little here. In any case, he wasn’t all too satisfied with the self-portrait. Looking at it, he could tell it was him because it was his face, but that wasn’t <em>him</em>.</p><p>[Surname] was walking around to deliver final commentary. From the excited chatter, he could tell his fellow classmates liked her. As she drew closer to him, he caught a couple strands of words: <em>“Focus more on your use of depth and the meanings you can derive from that”, “Be sure to study up on anatomy; if you think about the angle here, then…” “Your choice in medium affects a lot. Try to consider that.”</em> With each person done, his trepidation grew. He was the last in line. He’d never felt so self-conscious about one of his pieces before, even during criticism or appraisal. Finally, she came back to him, nodding at him first before surveying the canvas.</p><p>“Oh? It’s not finished, huh.”</p><p>It was like she could see into his mind. Though, that only proved her talent as a fellow artist. His heart felt like it was soaring; finally, somebody else he could follow the tutelage of?</p><p>“Your comp is good, and so’s your skill. It’s astounding, actually. These brush strokes add to the combination of abstract realism… and you’re drawing from Ukiyo-e, aren’t you? Hm.” She chuckled to herself, and he resisted the urge to ask her what was funny. “Look, I have a feeling you know what it is you’re looking for already, so I don’t have to say much. But I hope you find it… you’re a little too young to be feeling things like this.”</p><p>“Wait,” he blurted out when she begun to walk away, standing up so quickly he nearly knocked the canvas off its easel entirely. “I—I’d like to show you it once it’s done and hear what you have to say.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah?” She laughed softly. “I doubt I’d have anything insightful for you. Sensei would probably—”</p><p>“It has to be you,” he insisted. The burning he felt in his heart akin to acid eating through his body reminded him of when he’d happened across Ann. Without that, he never would’ve met the others, and never would’ve changed Madarame’s heart. How much longer would he have lived like that, allowing his master to tread on others, or on <em>himself</em>? He’d been weak, but because of once incident, it had all changed. He had to listen to his heart. He wouldn’t back down.</p><p>The bell tolled, but he refused to level his gaze anywhere else. [Surname] bit her lip before sighing.</p><p>“Okay, well, I go to school pretty far from here, and it’s not like I’ll be back for a while. Do you want to just text me?”</p><p>“I have to show you in person. If that’s alright…” He knew he was being demanding, and probably borderline offensive, but he could feel the wings flutter on his face. A single blue butterfly can change the course of the future; he had to do this.</p><p>“Um—” People were awkwardly trying to get past her to make it to the next class on time. “Okay, yeah. Sure. Gimme your phone.”</p><p>With great relief he handed it over. She typed in a number and spun it back to him. [Name] [Surname].</p><p>“I’ll let you know my schedule some other time. You’re okay coming up to my apartment? It’s a bit out of the way. There’s also cafés nearby, but—”</p><p>“Yes,” he agreed quickly, tucking his phone away before she could change her mind. “Thank you very much, [Surname]-san.”</p><p>“Well, while we’re at it, you can just call me [Name]. It’s only fair. And I’m not all that much older than you.” She stepped aside with a sly wink. “I wouldn’t want you to be late.”</p><p>“Then I will see you later, [Name].”</p><p>It was a pleasant, ordinary smile; he didn’t know why it felt so haunting to him. It was burnt into his mind. When he went to bed, it was all he could think about, like the Cheshire cat hangs in place of the crescent moon, grinning with its captive stars.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em> <b>“wendy, wendy, when you are sleeping in your silly bed you might be flying about with me saying funny things to the stars.”</b> </em>
  </p>
</div><p>
  <b>[Name]: Yeah, see you tonight!</b>
</p><p>The trek to the North-Western part of Tokyo took quite a bite out of his wallet, but he wouldn’t have missed it for the world. The other Phantom Thieves seemed a bit too excited about why he was busy tonight, but he didn’t intend on sharing with them. [Name] was for him.</p><p>She opened up shortly, looking relaxed with a messy up-do and casual clothes. He hadn’t really been thinking on his way over, but now that he was actually here, he realized that he’d forgotten to think of what to say. Thankfully, she assumed charge of the conversation and ushered him inside.</p><p>It was a small place, as to be expected by a college student living by herself in metro-Tokyo. It was for easier commute to school, she explained as she sat him down at the table. The green tea with toasted rice was soothing, allowing his nerves to settle.</p><p>“I noticed you don’t have any artwork up,” he mentioned, wondering too late if it was an offensive thing to say. It was true, however; for a person with a high-calibre eye and technical skill, he expected to see at least <em>something</em> that indicated an appreciation for arts. The walls were entirely bare, and he didn’t even see sculptures or <em>anything</em> that hinted to it.</p><p>“Didn’t I tell you?” she asked over her mug, nonchalant. “I quit painting once I graduated.”</p><p>It was like his heart had stilled.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I didn’t have time anymore. I went straight into uni.”</p><p>“And you didn’t major in…” It felt like his tongue was getting heavier. She shook her head, as if it were a no-brainer.</p><p>“Art wouldn’t get me a job.”</p><p>“But… how can this be?” Had his predictions about her been wrong the entire time? His world was crumbling like Palace stones beneath his feet. He’d never felt so appalled. In the singular moment he had rejoiced in the triumph of putting his faith in another, he was falling.</p><p>“It’s just what comes with growing up,” she sighed, blowing into her drink. Her eyes had a certain glaze of nostalgia that made his heart ache.</p><p>“It’s—that’s <em>wasteful</em>.” He didn’t mean to chide a senior, but he couldn’t help it. His hands were shaking. “You have a gift. Why not use it? Surely, there must be—”</p><p>“You’re what, seventeen?” she interrupted suddenly, her tone not having changed. He swallowed thickly.</p><p>“…yes.”</p><p>“I was seventeen, too. I had all these ideas. But now I’m not.” She spun the mug in her hands, rotating it 360 degrees before murmuring, “things change, Yusuke-kun… not always for the better.”</p><p>“Will you still look at my painting?” he asked after a long pause, feeling numb. She nodded.</p><p>“That’s why you came in the first place, isn’t it?”</p><p>He unwrapped the canvas. She held it in her hands thoughtfully, her fingers ghosting over it as if she meant to touch but had something holding her back. For six solemn minutes (three-hundred sixty seconds) that he counted in his head, she was dead silent.</p><p>“It’s wonderful. But it’s still unfinished.” She turned the portrait around, forcing him to face himself. “I can tell. You held back, didn’t you? There’s still something you want to say.”</p><p>He gnawed on his lip. Any amateur would recognize that all the components were there; an expert, or any true lover of art, would see what she had. She was just contradicting herself further and further. She still loved art. He could tell. He <em>knew</em>, so—ah, of course!</p><p>“I’ll make you paint again,” he declared aloud, eyes widening with realization. How had he been so slow to notice? This was his calling; restoring those astray back to the path of enlightenment. [Name]’s gifts had been lost, sundered from the world by unjust means. Her heart was crying out for comfort. The barrenness of the home, the hollowness of her platitudes—what desires distorted her cognition? As a hero, he <em>had</em> to help somebody in need!</p><p>“Uh… okay.” She laughed nervously, almost to herself. “You’re a bit of a strange kid, aren’t you?”</p><p>“You said yourself that we aren’t so different in age.”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess.” She slipped his painting back into its sleeve, smiling fondly at it. “You’re gonna make me paint again, huh…”</p><p>“Yes. It’s my duty.”</p><p>“And why’s that? Humour me.” She rested her head in the palm of her hand, her analytic eyes now trained on him. It felt like she was searing a hole through him to his soul. He didn’t quite mind the feeling of vulnerability.</p><p>“It’s just not <em>right</em> to completely quit art with your talent. Even if you’re busy, surely, you can still pursue it…”</p><p>“You’ve got strong ideals.” She sighed through her nose, fingers curling loosely against her cheek. A heavy exhaustion seemed to curtain her face. “Not a bad thing, but we’re pretty different, y’know. If you’re so obsessed with me, I won’t stop you, but… sorry in advance if I end up disappointing.”</p><p>“You could never, [Name]-san.”</p><p>“Mm.” For a moment, she sounded pained. There were words she wanted to say, but she held them back. It was like she was a bird in a cage, refusing to fly away even with the door unlatched.</p><p>That was fine. He would free her soon enough.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em> <b>“i'll hold you in my heart, until i can hold you in my arms.”</b> </em>
  </p>
</div><p>“Fox is in bad shape!”</p><p>“My apologies…” He grimaced as he got to his feet shakily, but felt his leg buckle, dropping him back into the ground. Morgana eyed him warily, unable to help support his weight. Yusuke tasted blood in his throat.</p><p>“What’s wrong with you, man? You’re not yourself.” Ryuji sounded angry, though concerned. Having Skull of all people worry after him was indicative enough of the gravity of his situation.</p><p>Mementos was a shared world that reflected the distortion of all those who partook. He knew why he was distracted, even if he wouldn’t admit it—despite the battle in front of him, his thoughts were elsewhere. With every turn they took, he dreaded the possibility that a [Name] [Surname] would be waiting for him. She was affecting his heart now, and thus, worsening his ability to fight. All he could think about was that look in her eyes.</p><p>“You should back out,” Joker told him sympathetically, taking his elbow and hauling him to his feet. It was for everybody’s good, he knew, but the words still stung. He’d been rendered useless by his own incompetence. The frustration made him grit his teeth, but he bowed his head.</p><p>“Yes, very well.”</p><p>He had to resolve this before it got any worse.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em> <b>“forget them, wendy. forget them all. come with me where you’ll never, never have to worry about grown up things again.”</b> </em>
  </p>
</div><p>“People are gonna start getting the wrong idea about you if you keep this up.”</p><p>“How so?” he asked indifferently, dropping his bag of art supplies onto the floor. She winced at the heavy thud.</p><p>“I mean, you’re a high school kid makin’ treks from Kosei all the way to my place…” Under her breath, she muttered, “people might start calling me a cougar.”</p><p><em>Like Panther in the metaverse?</em> he wondered to himself, but he kept his mouth shut. Indulging in the secrets of phantom thievery weren’t the purpose of his visit. He’d been over to [Name]’s apartment a couple times now, always trying to nudge her back to the brushes, always facing stubborn rejection. Finally, he decided to take extreme action.</p><p>“It’s no trouble. It’s quieter here than at the dorms, anyways.”</p><p>“Yeah… okay.” She served him the same green tea as usual but had a rigid apprehension about her. “You seriously lugged all your shit over just to make me paint?”</p><p>“Yes,” he replied, adamant. “It’s for your healing.”</p><p>“My healing…” She sucked her teeth and shook her head. “Okay, look, Yusuke. I didn’t know how to break it to you before, but I think you’re starting to get this grand delusion of me.”</p><p>He didn’t like where this was going. The tea burnt his tongue.</p><p>“I’m not some grand tortured artist or something. I don’t <em>need</em> art or anything. I had a hobby that I was good at, and I dropped it because I got busy. It’s finals week for me, y’know? I don’t have time for this.”</p><p>“But you can’t just <em>let go</em>,” he argued explosively, angry for reasons he couldn’t even identify. “If you let go, then what else do you have left?! You’re an artist! How could you not need art?”</p><p>“Because I have a <em>life</em>, Yusuke-kun. See—we’re different.” Even though he’d raised his voice at her, she remained calm, if not obviously irritated. “You’re young. You haven’t been broken by the world yet.”</p><p><em>You should know what I see in Mementos,</em> he wanted to challenge. <em>I’ve seen it all. I’ve seen what darkness looks like.</em></p><p>“That’s why I’m trying to help you,” he all but pleaded. “To restore your faith.”</p><p>Suddenly, he was on the floor. [Name], always reserved in gentle politeness, had grasped his wrists, pinioning them above his head. The ends of her hair swept against his cheek like feather soft brushes. He shuddered as her knee dug closer to his groin.</p><p>“Is <em>this</em> what you want from me? Was this all some convoluted excuse to get laid? You wanted some kind of <em>exploitation</em> to brag about to your friends?”</p><p>“No, that’s not—” His voice cracked. A warmth was burning through him, uncomfortable in his blood. He was paralyzed but restless, swelling and deflating, and all he could focus on was the depth of hue in her eyes. He could never hope to replicate it. Beautiful.</p><p>“Oh, fuck. What am I <em>doing</em>…” She quickly leant back, releasing him from her grip, and he found that he missed the warmth. He slowly sat up to see her cradling her head in her hands.</p><p>“Sorry,” she muttered, running her fingers back through her hair. She sniffled, looking bothered. “It’s… that was uncalled for. I shouldn’t have done that.”</p><p>“It’s all right.” His heart was still thrumming. Was it <em>really</em> okay? Better than okay?</p><p>“I don’t think you should come anymore, Yusuke-kun.” She spoke in a strained voice, unable to meet his eyes. He gripped his hands into fists with retaliation. In a spur of the moment action he was sure he’d soon regret, but couldn’t stop himself from doing, he reversed exactly what she had done to him and knocked her onto her hardwood floor. Her hands were soft in his, elegant, though small. Her fingers twitched, weaved in his. A honeyed scent of soap seemed to cradle his brain, winding through the valleys and ridges, infecting his thoughts. Those <em>eyes</em>. Sayuri’s? No—something else, equally captivating.</p><p>“I’m older than you,” she begun to whisper, her voice growing more and more desperate the closer he got. “I—think about the position you’re putting me in. I’m not trying to take advantage of you—”</p><p>“You aren’t.”</p><p>“That’s not for you to dec—mmfgh.”</p><p>He wasn’t sure why he’d done it; it’d just felt right to kiss her. It was like she had a gravity and he couldn’t resist. Her lips retained the bitter smokiness of green tea—it was the only thing he could think about as his heart roared in his ears.</p><p>Her eyes swum.</p><p>“You’re insane,” she breathed shakily. He lowered his hands from hers and cradled her face in his hands. It felt more precious than a treasure.</p><p>“People often tell me that.”</p><p>She closed her eyes, allowing her head to fall back with defeat. He held her closely, but somehow, it felt like the rift had widened. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to regret what he had done.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em> <b>“the difference between him and the other boys at such a time was that they knew it was make-believe, while to him make-believe and true were exactly the same thing.”</b> </em>
  </p>
</div><p>“You know being meddlesome’s no good, right?”</p><p>He smiled wryly as she approached him, not bothering with a hello or anything similar. Ever since that night, they’d gone their separate ways. He thought of her endlessly, as she crept up in his thoughts the very same way he might think about what groceries to get. She was always present for him. Always <em>there</em>, a whisper in the back of his mind that made the tension between his shoulders slacken. He fantasized, dreamt of her, yearned for her… but he knew there was a distance between them he was no longer allowed to cross. He’d tasted the fruit in the Garden of Eden, and now he must forever atone for his sin.</p><p>“It worked, did it not?”</p><p>“I guess. I didn’t think I’d ever sub again, much less go and get my hands dirty. But after all your effort, I’d feel bad if I didn’t. I hope you’re happy.”</p><p>“Can I see it?”</p><p>She set the canvas down and pulled the fabric covering away before presenting it to him. His heart jumped; he stared back at himself. Bright splashes of colour sprawled the frame, and despite its small size, it felt like the painting went on forever, bleeding into his hands.</p><p>“It’s yours. Since you were so passionate about insisting.”</p><p>“I…” It wasn’t often that he was rendered speechless. He felt the weight of the canvas, more than wood and fabric. She’d breathed such a strong emotion into him that he almost couldn’t recognize himself. Was this the version of himself that she saw? It was bright. Virile, <em>precious</em>. He had a Mona-Lisa smile, secretive but plain, yet all he could think about was hers. This wasn’t him, yet it was.</p><p>“Anyways. I meant what I said. <em>You</em> might not know any better, but us seeing each other after…” She waved her hand awkwardly, eyes darting away. “It’s for the best for us to not contact each other anymore.”</p><p>“But—”</p><p>“No ‘buts’. Listen to your seniors.” She smacked him on the head with a comedic karate-chop, though she had to go on her tip-toes to reach his crown. She gave him one last smile, her hand slipping down to brush his cheek. It was a sad expression.</p><p>“It’s time to grow up. The world isn’t easy… okay? So yeah. See you around, Yusuke.”</p><p>“Wait!”</p><p>She didn’t stop for him this time. She walked away, pixie dust in the wind. Even if he reached out, she’d slip away, the way sands in an hourglass do between your fingers no matter how hard you try to stop them. Lost.</p><p>Is this pain what it means to grow up? The tears burnt in his eyes, cold on his cheeks, absent without her hands. If so, he would never grow up.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em> <b>“goodnight, wendy.”</b> </em>
  </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>deltachye.tumblr.com</p></blockquote></div></div>
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